The Twelve Days of Hunting (My Manservant gave to me)
by LMRichardson
Summary: When Arthur once again drags Merlin and the Knights out on another hunt, they experience Twelve interesting situations all centred around our favourite Warlock (even if he doesn't have a clue what's going on) Including, but not limited to; Sorcerers, bandits, kisses, and a rather weird encounter with a batch of wild mushrooms...Kind of AU. Rated M - You have been warned :)
1. The Beginning

There are some things that Arthur does that Merlin can ignore. Throwing books at his head; that's funny. Splashing water all over the floor when getting out of a bath; that's just fine, Merlin spills it whilst carrying the buckets up the stairs anyway. But this is just ridiculous! Making him go on a hunting trip for two weeks. Two _weeks_! What could there possibly be in the forest that takes two weeks to hunt? A tree is a tree. A deer is a deer. You can see all that, catch all that in a day. So why in the world was Arthur making Merlin pack for two weeks?

"Stupid pratty prince" grumbles Merlin, shoving a bed roll into a pack with more force that is strictly necessary.

It's not like Merlin can say no either. Even if he wasn't Arthur's manservant, he'd have to go just to keep the royal Clotpole out of trouble. And he doesn't even get a thank you. Hiding his magic at times like that is when it's hardest. Watching someone else get the credit, like Cedric that time, or having his very heroic (if he does say so himself) actions chalked up to sheer luck. For once, it would be nice to get a thank you. A little recognition. But then again, recognition is swiftly followed with a trip to the block and one less head.

"_Mer_lin" says Arthur, stepping through the door to his chambers, his face scrunched up into a scowl. Damn the man, he still manages to look attractive like that! "What could possibly be taking so long?"

"Sorry, _Sire_" the title leave his mouth sounding sarcastic. It is.

Arthur just rolls his eyes at him. He prefers it when Merlin calls him by his actual name anyway. He's the only man who treats Arthur like a person instead of fussing over his being the Crown Prince of Camelot. It's strangely nice to know that Merlin isn't intimidated by him…although, that's not the way it should be. Merlin is his manservant; there should be some kind of fear there. If not fear, then at least respect. But Arthur gets the feeling that it isn't disrespect that rules Merlin, it's just the way the man is. And Arthur wouldn't change it even if he could. Shrugging off the inner monologue, Arthur goes back to glaring at his struggling manservant.

"Have you packed everything?" asks Arthur, remembering the time that they had set up camp (well, Merlin had actually set it up, but Arthur did a brilliant job of watching him) and found that there was no bed roll, no blankets, and three missing shirts. Merlin swore he'd packed them. Arthur didn't even pretend to believe him. And the Knights had just burst into laughter. The hunt had been called off early when it became a real possibility that the Prince was going to freeze to death. Damn Merlin. But the memory is a fond one nonetheless.

"Of course I have" scoffs Merlin, looking offended. Arthur just raises an eyebrow; his expression a lot like Gaius' and Merlin quickly does a double check of the packs. "Yes, everything's there"

"I'll believe it when I see it" says Arthur, turning on his heel and pounding down the stairs, eager to be out from behind the castle walls.

When Merlin reaches the group of Knights clustered together at the front of the castle, he can't help but smile. Percival, Gwaine, Leon and Lancelot are laughing at something, hitching their packs onto their horses, getting ready to leave. Maybe this could be fun after all, thinks Merlin, eyeing the ever present mischief in Gwaine's expression.

"Ah, Merlin" crows Gwaine happily, stretching an arm around Merlin's shoulders as he reaches them. "I guess the Princess didn't let you off of this one then"

"Wouldn't even hear my well made up reasons not to go" replies Merlin with a laugh.

"Since when has his ignoring you ever stopped you talking, eh?" Chuckles Lancelot, reaching to relieve Merlin of the pack in his arms.

"Give us one of your arguments then" says Gwaine with a smirk, "you must have hurt yourself thinking that much, the least we can do is listen to what you came up with."

Merlin's mouth opens to tell them, as earnestly as he can, that he shouldn't have to go on the hunting trip because his little toe had been nibbled off by a rat the last time he was in the dungeons. And that there was no possible way that he could hobble around the woods with only nine of his toes, when an annoyed Prince grabs the back of his neckerchief and hauls him over to Arthur's mare.

"_Mer_lin, I do _not _bring you on these hunts so that I can watch you gossiping with my Knights" grumbles Arthur, glaring over at the smirking foursome in question. Leon and Lancelot turn around quickly, fiddling with saddle bags and reigns, studiously pretending to be ignoring the angry Prince. Percival starts to whistle a completely out of tune melody while lifting his head to the sky, acting as innocent as possible and failing completely. Gwaine just watches them shamelessly, an infuriatingly knowing smile playing across his face.

"I know that" replies Merlin, dragging Arthurs attention from the best Knights Camelot has to offer (himself excluded, obviously) bumbling like fools and back to his manservants' disgruntled face. "You only drag me along for someone to complain at."

"What other use could you possibly have?" Asks Arthur in a ridiculously self-important tone, raising his eyebrow again. Merlin can't help but think that maybe his prat of a Prince is channelling too much Gaius.

"You have no idea" mumbles Merlin under his breath, his words not quite reaching Arthurs ears.

"What?" Demands Arthur.

"Let's go hunt some deer!" Cheers Merlin, his voice laced with fake enthusiasm, grabbing his horses' mane and swinging his leg over to settle on her back.

"You hate hunting" comments Arthur, picking up on the false note easily.

After nearly two years with his hopeless manservants' incessant chattering, he's found he can pick up on these kinds of things. He can hear the smile in Merlin's words when can't actually see the man's face. He can catch the hint of tears even when he's trying so hard to hide it. He can even pick up on the hitch in Merlin's breathing when Arthur gets a tad too close. It's that last little noise that he likes the most. Enough that he makes an effort to hear it at least once a day.

Waving his hand as the Knights mount their steeds, he kicks his horse into a trot, taking his natural place as the lead of their convoy. Of course, Merlin comes to trot alongside him, displaying absolutely no respect for his proper place at the _back _of such a gathering where the servants are meant to stay. Arthur can't say he's particularly bothered.

"You're aware of this and yet you still make me come?"

"Of course"

"Prat"

"Idiot"

Merlin snorts, "I believe you're running out of insults, my friend." And Arthur can hear the smile.

"And I believe we have had the conversation about using correct titles, have we not?"

"That we have, _Sire_" replies Merlin. He feels like Arthur's just punched him in the stomach. He will never see him as a friend, he will always be just a servant in Arthur's eyes, and that fact hurts more than drinking any poison ever has.

Arthur glances over at his manservant, hearing the smile leave his voice. It's replaced by something that sounds almost like tiredness. How can he be tired? They've only been riding for five minutes! Arthur wants to say something, but he's not sure what. He feels like he should apologise for something, but that's preposterous. He is the crowned Prince of Camelot – he couldn't possibly apologise to a _servant_. Even if that servant is _Merlin._ And anyway, he has nothing to say sorry for. He _is _the Prince after all. Instead, they ride in an awkward silence for a few more minutes until Merlin drops back slightly to ride next to Gwaine. Arthur feels the absence of his presence like a throb through his chest.

"What's the Princess done now?" Ask Gwaine, looking over at his friends wounded face.

"Who says Arthur's done anything?"

"Your face" replies Gwaine smoothly, well past being shocked at Merlin's use of the Princesses name. Stupid nobles and their titles anyway.

"It's nothing, Gwaine, honestly. I just don't like hunting and it's making me feel a little down, that's all"

"Then we'll have to make sure we stop in at least three taverns before we leave the lower town, eh?" Smiles Gwaine, ignoring the exasperated looks being thrown his way by Leon and Percival and slinging an arm round Merlin's shoulders as much as possible considering the horses in their way.

"Will you all _hurry up_!" Shouts Arthur, turning round to glare at Gwaine, keeping his eyes trained on the Knight until his arm drops from Merlin's shoulders to rest on his reigns again.

"I doubt you'll be able to convince him to stop in a tavern any time soon, Gwaine" says Lancelot, guiding his horse up to the other side of Merlin. "The mood he's in now, I'd be surprised if he didn't keep us riding until the sun sets just as punishment."

"Ah, but the Princess wouldn't do that, Lancelot. He wouldn't want to hurt his precious Merlin's arse, would he?" replies Gwaine, cracking up despite to look of utter red faced fury on Merlin's face. Merlin can feel his magic swirling around inside him, just begging to be released. He'd never hurt Gwaine, not in a million years, but spelling him into silence for the rest of the trip would be lovely.

"Er, Gwaine?" Asks Percival tentatively, throwing confused looks at Merlin's bright red face, "why would Arthur care about Merlin's arse?"

"Because if Merlin's going to ride anything, the Princess over there would rather it wasn't a horse." Replies Gwaine with a gleeful thump on Merlin's shoulder. "He wouldn't want you all worn out before we've even set up the tents now, would he?" Oh, the spell's looking good right now!

"It's not worth the risk" whispers Lancelot, practically reading Merlin's mind.

"But…but…but…" says Merlin, completely lost for words. How could the Knights be thinking that he and Arthur did…well…_that_?

"Don't be shy Merlin" Encourages Gwaine, in full swing now – the infuriating man! "There is many a Knight who would give anything to be in your position"

"Are you one of those?" Asks Lancelot quickly, before Merlin can get the words of the Old Religion past his shocked tongue.

"Heavens no!" Exclaims Gwaine, looking thoroughly insulted. "He's a _Noble_" and it sounds just as much as an insult coming from his mouth as the word _Sire _does coming out of Merlin's.

"Um, Gwaine" says Leon, "you are aware that you're a Knight, yes?"

"But I'm a peasant at heart, Sir other Knight" says Gwaine proudly.

"What in the world are you lot talking about?" Demands Arthur, his voice booming at them as he closes the distance between himself and the rest of the group quickly.

He'd been riding up ahead, trying his hardest to catch snippets of their conversation without showing that he was interested, but apart from getting the words _'tavern', 'Princess' _and '_Peasant_' he'd been lost.

"Merlin's arse" declares Percival, skipping the part about Gwaine being a peasant. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell the Prince that one of his best Knights was wishing he'd never been knighted. Percival's quite proud of himself, jumping in to save his brother in arms from the fury of their Prince. That is until said Prince looks like he's going to explode.

"_What_?" Splutters Arthur. His eyes search the group, skipping quickly over his manservant's mortified face, to rest back on Percival. The other Knights' faces are a collage of exasperation, amusement and wariness. Percival, bless the man, just looks like his very confused self. He can handle a sword better than most of his men, and he's stronger than any other, but poor Percival's intelligence is rather questionable. Arthur can't decide whether he wants to yell, laugh or kill Gwaine (because he knows, without a doubt, that this was Gwaine's choice topic) so he settles for a disapproving look and all of them. As he turns his horse to head back up the front he catches Merlin's indignant;

"_Why would you tell him that_?!"

"And, just so that you are forewarned, we shall be stopping in the next tavern we pass" says Arthur, his voice lifting to ensure it carries back to his men and Merlin.

He's pretty sure he's going to need a very strong drink to get the rather graphic images what he'd like to do to his manservants arse out of his head. What the hell is wrong with him? He's never had these thoughts in his waking hours before. In his dreams; yes. And if he's woken up a morning or two in a particular predicament due to his manservants blue gaze piercing him in his sleep, then that was something that he never explored when conscious. God, this was going to be a long two weeks.

_X/X/X/X/X/X/X_

_Review?_

**A/N - Just a quick update for this chapter. Thanks teacupcococake for the heads up :) **

**I'm going to try to update once a day for the rest of the week as I'm still technically on holiday but then it might slow down to once a week when I'm back at college. **


	2. A Tavern Infested with Lice

**A Tavern Infested with Lice**

Considering the reputation that the lower towns have, there seems to be a distinct lack of taverns the moment you're seriously in need of one. Arthur is the Prince of Camelot! He would one day rule these people, and they don't even have the decency to have a place where he could get thoroughly drunk and forget about the idea of bending his manservant over his table and showing him just where his place is! Loyalty is just dead these days. He knows he sounds like the prat that Merlin always claims he is but he really couldn't care less. He has his manservant to tell him off, why would he tell himself off too?

"Come _on_, Gwaine. How can you not know where to go?" Complains Arthur, in a voice which is most definitely _not _whiney. The Crown Prince of Camelot does. Not. Whine. _Ever_. Although Merlin would most definitely say differently.

"Well, in my defence…Sire" says Gwaine, only just remembering to add the title on the end before the Princess gets even more whiney, because yes, the Princess is quite fond on whining, "the last time I was in any of these places, I was too drunk to really map out my way to and fro"

"Maybe we should ask someone?" Suggests Merlin wearily, watching as his Prince and best friend glare at each other. "Then we can have one _quick _drink and get back to the hunt"

"The hunt? Oh, yes, I'd forgotten we were out here for a reason other than to become the new town drunkards" says Sir Leon, giving the Prince a stern look.

"We shall continue the quest tomorrow" assures Arthur "but tonight I wish to get drunker than I ever have before" and Merlin is sure that had there been a table present, Arthur would have slammed his fist down on its surface.

"Wait. Quest?" Asks Lancelot.

"Yes. Quest" replies Arthur.

"But you said we were hunting" adds Percival, his voice taking on the confused tone that is becoming far too common a thing.

"I lied" replies the Prince with an absentminded wave of his hand.

"You lied?! Why would you do that?" Squeaks Merlin (and no, he will never admit to how much of a girl he just sounded. Even on pain of Morgana.)

"Because my Father would have never let me leave the castle if he were aware of the quest in which we are going to complete. He believes it far too dangerous."

"Then maybe you should listen to him" says Merlin, and for once he feels he may have pushed a little too far. Arthur made it very clear not even an hour ago that they are only servant and master. "Oops. Sorry" Mutters Merlin, imagining the week of being stuck in the stocks which is bound to come his way, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He really _hates _tomatoes.

"If I were to listen to my father, _Mer_lin, they we would not be having this conversation, would we?" says Arthur, eyeing his manservant. Merlin won't meet his eyes, and it's the most frustrating thing ever. "You would have been dead before your first month in Camelot was up if I hadn't defied my father"

"And I thank you for that, Sire, but maybe this time is different? The King actively encourages you to pursue quests. It brings honour on him, you and Camelot itself. I doubt he is over exaggerating when he says this one is too dangerous. He surely has a very good reason behind forbidding you completing it." Says Merlin, trying his hardest to sound like the adviser to his Prince that he indulges himself in being in his dreams.

"Look at me, Merlin" orders Arthur when Merlin doesn't meet his gaze on his own accord. It is hesitant, but eventually he meets his eyes. The Knights have gone back to pretending to be ignoring them, but Gwaine's ever present curiosity in burning bright. He knows that the Princess has slightly stronger feelings for Merlin than a master should for a servant, even more than a friend for a friend. He wants some proof of it though.

"I don't think that you should ignore your father's wishes" repeats Merlin, holding Arthurs gaze.

"It will not be that dangerous, Merlin. We'll be back in two weeks with the locket, completely unscathed and my father will be so happy that we finally have such an item in our possession that he'll throw a feast in our honour" says Arthur. Merlin holds back the sarcastic reply of; 'In _your _honour' with difficulty, but the burning heat of his Princes' gaze is enough to force his words back down his throat.

"What's so special about this locket?" Asks Sir Leon, breaking his unconvincing ignorance to the conversation going on around him, and becoming the second in command that is always by Arthur's side.

"The locket is said to bewitch the person who wears it. It casts such a potent spell that the owner will be so blinded by the need for what they most desire that they will plough through the world to get it. Be it a person or a possession they crave. It has the ability to create the strongest warrior, consumed by that need and pumped with enough magic to make them just strong enough to come within a hairbreadth of their desire, but never enough to ensnare it. It is said to turn even the sanest man into a shell of himself." Says Arthur, the blues of his eyes blazing like lightning as he gazes at his manservant.

"Why would we want to have such a thing in our possession?" Gulps Percival.

"Because we do not want it in someone else's" replies Merlin before Arthur can explain. His gaze meets his Princes again and he can't look away. Arthurs gaze is intense, scorching Merlin and sending a hot ball of desire down into his stomach, pooling in his groin. And Merlin can't help but think that the need for his Prince must sure be strong enough to rival any spell that damn locket could ever bewitch him with.

"If you do not wish to join me on this quest now, then you may turn back" says Arthur, looking directly at Merlin, a challenging glint in his eyes. "I shall think no differently of you when I return" he promises, "I realise now that I was wrong to lie to you all about such a thing."

"What fun is there to life if we don't go on a highly dangerous quest every once in a while?" says Gwaine happily, until a frown wrinkles his forehead, "Well, apart from Taverns and the thighs of a maiden, obviously."

"I'm coming too" says Leon, looking at Gwaine with what can only be described as something close to disgust mixed with unconditional friendship.

"I'm in" says Lancelot.

"Me too" replies Percival. And then like every other bloody time all eyes turn in Merlin's direction. He can't help but grumble a little at the fact that they even have to ask him. Don't they know by now that wherever the Royal Prat goes, he's going too? Maybe Kilgharrah was right when he said that they were two sides of the same coin, that their destinies are entwined. But maybe it's more than that.

Over the last two years, Merlin has gotten to know the _real _Arthur. Not the arrogant, conceited, prat of a Prince. But the man. And he's starting to feel more like destiny isn't a burden but a blessing. Getting to spend his life with Arthur Pendragon has become a piece of knowledge the Merlin has started to treasure. With the slow burning of arousal in the pit of his stomach still churning away, he's starting to think that maybe he doesn't follow the Prat because it is what he was made for, but more because he couldn't imagine a life without Arthur. Well, life just got a bit more complicated and Merlin kicks himself for it. Falling in love with your Prince (or master if Arthur is in a particularly grumpy mood) is not a good plan.

"I'm by your side until the day I die" says Merlin, wondering why the world he couldn't just say a chirpy 'me too' and ride off to find a tavern to get so blasted drunk that when he's ripped apart by whatever creature this quest is bound to involve, he'll barely feel a thing. Gwaine looks at him triumphantly, Lancelot looks slightly pitying, Leon looks like someone's just told him Uther is a woman and Percival…well he just looks confused. But Merlin's eyes are for Arthur only, and the Prince smiles so blindly bright that he doesn't feel like quite so much of an idiot for his sort of, kind of, declaration.

"So, first we find a tavern" states Arthur, holding up a finger to count through his plan, "where we get so drunk that even _Gwaine _will have a headache in the morning, then we head off to the West, into the forest to face down the many, many horrendous things that await us on this quest." And he says it so matter-of-factly, that the prospect of the 'many, many horrendous things' doesn't particularly bother Merlin.

"Then I recommend that we ask someone for directions because if I'm going to die in the next two weeks, then I don't want to look back at my life and know that I missed out on the chance to see Lancelot the noble spewing his breakfast over someone's boots because we couldn't find the damn tavern" says Merlin, feeling a whole lot happier in the most morbid of a ways. At least he's going to die with his Prat of a Prince and his two best friends. If there's only one good thing to come of it then at least there's that.

"Aye" replies Gwaine with a face splitting grin, watching as Merlin jumps off of his horse and hurries over to the nearest peasant to ask for directions.

"He really is the bravest of us all, isn't he?" Says Lancelot, watching Merlin flap his arms around, gesturing widely during the whole conversation. The peasant woman beams up at him, wrapped round his little finger already.

"That he is" agrees Arthur without hesitation. His manservant, his Merlin, willingly entering this quest, like so many before, without the training of a Knight. Without a sword, without chainmail. And Arthur suddenly realises that there is no better a man that he could have fallen in love with.

x/x/x/x/x

Well, that is until they reach the tavern that Merlin got them directions for.

"What in the world is this place?" Demands the Prince, and Merlin has to hide a smile because the prat actually _pouts_.

"It's a tavern" says Merlin slowly, as if talking to a slow child.

"Yes, I know that _Mer_lin" replies Arthur dangerously, glaring at his stupid manservant. But he can't seem to pull his eyes away again.

In the midday sunlight Merlin's skin glows almost luminescent, the strands of black hair falling over his forehead, midnight black against the canvas of alabaster. Arthur gulps, tearing his eyes away from the thing they most want to fix on. He cannot be caught staring so intently at his manservant, no matter how beautiful said manservant is. And beautiful is not a word Arthur particularly likes to use. It makes him sound far too much like the poem writing _girl_ Merlin made him out to be that one time. But he'd be lying is he wasn't imagining running his hands through the raven hair. To tug slightly just to hear the gasp, the moan, from his manservants lips. Ugh, this can _not _end well.

"Then why ask the question?" Gripes Merlin, completely unaware of his Princes somewhat covert observation. Although, Merlin himself can't quite tear his own eyes away from the way that Arthurs hair is shrouded in a halo of sunshine, creating a bright, natural crown of gold above his head. His skin, already sun-kissed shines with a layer of sweat from the pounding of the sun and Merlin has to hold back his desire to kiss a path from collarbone to jaw, just to taste the salt against his lips. Just to taste _Arthur_.

"I think it looks perfect" says Gwaine, clapping his hands together. He can't say he's even a little bit surprised that neither Merlin nor Arthur seems to notice. Gwaine smiles happily and ushers his fellow Knights into the extremely run down tavern in an attempt to give the Princess and Merlin some privacy. So that they can finally push each other up against a wall somewhere and go at each other like they're been dying to do since Gwaine met them in that Tavern, and probably for a very long time before that. If they don't get it out of the way soon, the tension is going to be enough to give Gwaine a permanent hard on, and a frustrated Gwaine is not something that the Princess wants on his stupid quest.

"Six tankards of mead, please" says Leon, reaching the serving wench before the others and throwing some coins on the table. It smells like something died inside the actual building and the sunlight barely makes it through the grime coating the windows, casting the room in an almost twilight darkness despite the blazing sun mere footsteps away. The air is still and stiflingly hot. But Gwaine has gotten drunk in worse places, so all in all, this is a win!

_x/x/x/x/x/x_

Outside, the air in tense around them. Arthur can feel it. The bustling of the crowded streets disappears into the background, insignificant compared to the man stood in front of him. Merlin looks confused. Well, flushed (which is too attractive to be fair) and so holy aroused that Arthur is having to clench his hands into fists at his sides so as not to manhandle his manservant into a darkened alley and finally sink himself into that skin.

But he also looks a little scared, like a deer that's been on the receiving end of a misaimed arrow. Shot in the leg and not dying quickly enough. When it realises there are other creatures hunting it. When you can see in its eyes that it knows the fight is over. Merlin looks like that now. Like he's given up a fight and is resigned to his fate. And that look hurts Arthur so much more than he thought possible. Because if Arthur is going to take Merlin, then it will be because they both want it. Not because Merlin thinks he has to because Arthur is the Prince. One last glance at Merlin, he storms into the tavern and swallows the revoltingly hot tankard in a few gulps before demanding another one and downing that too.

Merlin just stands and watches as Arthur stomps into the tavern. It's too dark inside to actually see his Prince but Merlin knows he'll be fulfilling his earlier promise of getting so drunk as to rival Gwaine's most raucous stories. What had been going through Arthur's head as he'd watched Merlin, the Warlock wasn't sure, but he'd bet his entire years wage (not that it equates to much) on the fact that he'd been thinking that Merlin was an idiot for leading them to the filthiest looking tavern he could find. Merlin knows that this new found attraction to his Prince is not going to end well. He is resigned to the fact that it will end in tears (his) but there's just nothing he can do about the heat surging in his groin each time the prat looks at him for longer than a few moments.

Sighing to himself he drags his feet into the tavern and takes the tankard offered to him by a grinning Lancelot and swallowing it as quickly as possible. It isn't long until he can feel the heat in his cheeks and the slightly lightheaded swaying that comes with drinking mead. He's never been able to hold his drink, and something about the evil smile plastered on Gwaine's face as he hands him yet another mug tells Merlin that this is something that Gwaine is extremely happy about.

"Wh – what 'bout tat one?" Slurs Gwaine, his arm slung carelessly over Merlin's shoulders and he points to a blonde woman walking into the tavern. Her dress is a dirty yellow and she looks overworked. But pretty. Well, as pretty as someone can be in the dark, horrible tavern anyway. Merlin's eyes travel over to Arthur, sat at another table between Leon and Lancelot, and notice that the prat _does _still manage to look like a priceless piece of artwork.

"Too 'lellow" replies Merlin, slurring right back.

"I t'ink you mean blonde"

"Nooo! 'Lellow" Insists Merlin, rather loudly in the quiet tavern. Arthur and the rest of the Knights turn to face them.

"What's up with Mer…" starts Arthur, burping in the most unprincely way possible, "…_Merlin_?"

"He don't like blondes" replies Percival. Merlin might be imagining it in his drunken, hopeful state but he thinks Arthur's face might fall slightly.

"Nooo!" Insists Merlin again, sighing in exasperation, "I don't like 'Lellow. Her – her dress!"

"Oh!" Says Gwaine, looking at the woman quickly. "T'hn what colour _do_ you like?"

"Red!" Shouts Merlin happily before slumping down a little on the stool and resting against Gwaine's shoulder, suddenly very, very much in need of some sleep. "Wed 'nd bwonde" murmurs Merlin as his eyes drift shut and everything goes black before swirling into dreams about the Prat of a Prince, whose blonde hair at the back of his neck rests against the thick red material of his jacket. And whose smile couldn't be bigger after hearing his manservants' sleepy mumblings.

_x/x/x/x/x/x/_

The next morning sees Arthur being dragged from his dream, which involved a very breathless manservant and things in seemingly impossible places, by the sounds of a very irritated tavern wench and being poked by the end of a broom.

"Don't you know who I am? I am Prince Arthur of Camelot!"

"And I'm King Uther!" Replies the woman sarcastically, prodding him even harder in the stomach. It takes a good few minutes to shake the others awake, another five for Arthur to calm down from a silently fuming jealous rage at seeing his Merlin squished against Gwaine on the floor beneath the table they'd spent the night talking at, before they're all stumbling through the door and into the far too bright sunlight.

"Does anyone else itch?" Asks Percival, scratching furiously at his arm, getting frustrated when his chain mail gets in the way.

"Now you mention it…" says Leon, attacking his own skin. And in no time at all, all six men are digging nails into flesh and jiggling chain mail around in an attempt to alleviate some of the torturous itch from their bodies.

"We have lice!" Declares Lancelot, looking around at the other men with a kind of 'what do you expect when you spend the night in a place like that?' look.

"_MERLIN_!" Shouts Arthur as the Warlock jumps, searching for places to hide before deciding on running in the other direction, keeping his magic under his skin instead of blasting out at the prat like it wants to. He can hear the pounding of Arthur's mail clad limbs chasing after him. He doesn't stand a chance and they both know it. So Merlin just waits for the moment when he Prince will catch him.

x/x/x/x/x/x/x

_Review?_

**A/N – Sorry for my drunk speech :/ Other than that, how was it? Don't worry, it will be Merthur. Just with a little side of Merwaine because…well because it's Gwaine :) **


	3. Two Cryptic Options

Two Cryptic Options…

"Sire, I thought this was a serious quest?" Asks Sir Leon from his perch on his horses back, watching the Crown Prince of Camelot chase his manservant around the small market place erected in the middle of the town.

"It is, Leon" Shouts back Arthur, diving under one particular stall and grabbing the back of Merlin's jacket, pulling the stumbling manservant down to the floor and promptly straddling the prone form. "Do you relent?"

"Nope" and Merlin pops the 'p', struggling against his Prince's weight.

"Never, ever lead the way to anywhere, Merlin" orders Arthur, his breath sounding a little raspy even to his own ears. But what's a man to do when the object of his desire is wriggling his hips against him? "Just stay on your horse and look pretty"

"You think I look pretty?" Whispers Merlin as his wriggling stops abruptly. Did his Prince really just say that? But it's as Arthur starts to look like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole that Merlin feels something hard pressing against his hip. Oh. Dear. God. He's not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. He's torn between running away again as quickly as possible or drawing a hand across his Prat's stomach and finally getting to _touch_. But before he gets to choose, Arthur's picking himself up off of the floor, pulling Merlin up with him and getting ready for what will most definitely be the most uncomfortable ride ever.

"What was that?" Asks Lancelot quietly, watching the Prince and Merlin walking towards their huddle of horses. They're both flushed and breathing heavily, walking so close that their arms and shoulders rub together. A constant need for contact.

"Foreplay" replies Gwaine with a wicked smile.

_x/x/x/x/x/x/x_

By the time Arthur has wrestled his reluctant manservant ('Yes, _Mer_lin, you still have to ride even with a mead induced headache!') onto the back of his horse, thrown his leg over his own and set a brisk pace, the rest of the Knights have stopped speculating about the private life of their Prince, gritted their teeth against their own delicate heads and slipped into seriousness. The quest taking centre stage in their minds. Even Gwaine reduces the amounts of sly glances he throws at Merlin as they finally enter the Darkling Woods.

"You do actually know where we're going, right?" Asks Merlin, cradling his throbbing head in his hands while letting his horse roam freely. The implication that the Prince is any less than certain in his tracking abilities hangs heavy in the air, and Merlin can hear Lancelot suck in a breath next to him and hold it.

Too far sunk in the melancholia of a pounding headache, Merlin doesn't even bother to reconsider his words and hastily rearrange them into a semblance of something sounding less derogatory. It's not like there are any stocks out in the woods for him to be immediately slung into and he figures the chances of him returning to Camelot are probably slim anyway. Arthur will stay alive if it's the last thing that Merlin does, but he's not deluded himself into thinking that he'll be able to bring them both back safe and sound and the Knights as well.

"Of course I know where I'm going Merlin" mutters Arthur, turning to glare at his manservant. "And will you ride properly, for heaven's sake!"

"I don't really need to ride her, Arthur" answers Merlin wearily, looking down at his horse and patting its neck affectionately, "do I Camisado*?"

"Oh, and why is that?" Sneers Arthur, slowing down slightly to ride alongside Merlin, forcing Lancelot to fall back to ride by Percival.

"Because she'll follow Llamrei* anywhere even without my orders" states Merlin with such certainty that Arthur can't think of anything to say back. Instead, he just watched the trees they pass by in hopes of finding a deer or something else to eat tonight when they set up camp.

Normally Merlin switches horses quite regularly, sometimes riding the same one repeatedly, and other times being forced to ride a different one when there is a large patrol or hunting party. Arthur on the other hand, only ever rides Llamrei. Well unless he has no other choice, and then he goes straight for Passelande*. That's one thing that Merlin has respected about Arthur from the moment it became his job to muck out the stables. The Prince's love for his horses, and although Arthur never stoops so low as to clean the stables himself, he does occasionally attend to them whilst away from the castle and the prying eyes of his father and his disapproval at his doing peasant work.

"Do you think we'll make it back by the two week deadline?" Wonders Lancelot aloud.

"We'll probably be back before then" says Arthur confidently, and Merlin wants to believe him. He so wants to believe him. But something about this quest is making him feel queasy - wrong in some way that has absolutely nothing to do with the vast quantities of mead he drank last night. The journey itself may be going quite well at the moment, but from past experience Merlin knows that pretty soon everything is going to crumble around them, and that constant mixture of fear, anxiety and anticipation is enough to drive a man to distraction. And that's just the journey! The locket is of such importance, such power, that acquiring it is going to be by no means an easy feat. Merlin just really hopes he's not starting to display accurate seer abilities.

"So do you know what we're to face?" Asks Leon from the back, raising his voice to reach Arthur. He knows he shouldn't be so petty as to get jealous of the fact that Merlin gets to ride up the front with the Prince when Leon, _the second in command_, is forced to ride at the back, but just because he doesn't voice the jealousy doesn't mean he can't feel it stabbing at his stomach.

"Geoffrey couldn't give me any specific details, other than to head west for one week's journey. Apparently the path should be easy to find to he who is destined to discover the locket"

"Destined? And you think it's your destiny to rediscover it?" Asks Merlin, trying exceptionally hard not to throw a childish fit over stupid, _stupid_ destiny and how, for once, it would be nice to escape its clutches. Being destined to help Arthur build his visions for Albion is an honour. He may not have been able to see it when Kilgharrah first told him, but now; he wouldn't have it any other way. It would just be nice to possibly have a day off every once in a bloody while.

"It's got to be somebody's. Why not mine?"

"So what you mean to tell us is that we could actually just spend the next two weeks riding round and round in circles because this path doesn't suddenly appear in front of us?"

"Yep"

"Great" replies Merlin with an eye-roll, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

"And besides, I never said that there would not be many other possible choices to follow along the way. We could ride for a week following a path that _seems_ obvious, but is not actually _the _path."

"I'm just going to refer back to my previous comment" grumbles Merlin.

"Either way, whether we find _the _path or just any other route, there are bound to be obstacles in the way"

"So we won't know whether we're heading in the right direction and completing the steps of the quest or just riding aimlessly and running into natural problems until a week is up and we're either holding the locket or not?" Questions Leon.

"Possibly. I don't know. Maybe once we have set ourselves on the right path, the quest will become more like something that we are familiar with."

"I'm referring back to Merlin's previous comment too" growls Gwaine.

"I feel blind"

"I'm hardly surprised, Lancelot. Looking at Gwaine for any length of time can do that to a person" laughs Percival in an attempt to lift morale.

"Because I'm so stunning it hurts?"

"If you say so"

"I, and many fair ladies, do" replies Gwaine with a flip of his hair and a good humoured obscene gesture directed at Percival.

"But seriously, we're not used to having such little direction" says Lancelot, "it's like riding blind, deaf and dumb – unable to track our path"

"It is not the best of situations I will admit" starts Arthur, "but we are Knights of Camelot and we are capable of completing much harder quests." Then he swivels to his left to eye Merlin and a small smile graces his lips, "well, most of us are. Merlin just comes along for the ride, don't you Merlin?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world" replies Merlin with a grin. And if the others notice the force behind the words, the ring of utter sincerity, then they don't mention it. Merlin wouldn't leave Arthur on something like this. Ever. They're aware of this now. Even if they don't fully know the reasons behind his loyalty.

_X/X/X/X/X/X/X_

What seems to Merlin like a lifetime and endless identical trees later, they finally come across a part of the landscape that looks different. Looks like it doesn't belong. But then again, maybe it's completely natural and it's only Arthur's desire for it to be out of place that makes it appear that way to the rest of the group. God, Merlin's head hurts!

"What do you think it means?" Asks Percival, jumping off of his horse with the rest of them and approaching the monolith guardedly.

The rock is big. Taller than Merlin and wider than ever Percival's broad shoulders. It's nestled into a tangle of plants, seemingly sprouting from the wildlife. Merlin can't help it; he _needs _to place his hand on its surface. He can feel a small tug of magic, smell a faint wisp of foreign power and it's drawing him to the stone. Without even thinking about it, his fingers reach out. They scrape hesitantly against its surface, against the rough dips and rises. And it's _hot_. So much hotter than any stone has a right to be under the dark canopy of leaves swaying in the light breeze above it. The sun is bright but not blazing enough to cause such a heat.

"_Mer_lin, what are you doing?" Demands Arthur, bringing him back to himself. His palm if pressed flat against the structure, the magic in his body tickling across his skin to slide against the remnants left behind inside the monolith. Merlin can feel the ancient power pressing against his flesh, the knowledge that this rock was placed here many, many years ago by someone with extraordinary amounts of power dancing through his mind as easily as his own thoughts. But they aren't his thoughts. They are an imprint of the previous magic user.

"Oh, s—sorry. I just wanted to see whether it felt as rough as it looked" explains Merlin lamely. Arthur gives him an odd look but returns to his own inspections, thankfully leaving Merlin free to trailing his fingers around to the other side. "What's this?"

"Have you found something?" Inquires Arthur, pressing up against Merlin's side to get a good look at whatever it is he's found. The heat radiating from his manservant nearly makes him gasp in surprise. The desire to wrap his arms around the skinnier man's waist and hold him against his chest is almost too strong to ignore. Arthur feels something odd settle in the pit of his stomach. Something light and joyous. So different from the dark, burning need of his arousal the previous night. It's jittery and swirling, like a living entity.

He watches Merlin's fingers trace over something carved into the rock. The pale, delicate hands trailing so gently over the surface that Arthur finds it hard to shake the image of those hands running freely over his own body, touching lightly at first, then getting rougher, surer, needier. He shakes his head imperceptibly and tries to focus. It's hard to do.

"It feels like words" muses Merlin, crouching down slightly to getting a better look. The sunlight is barely peeking through the trees above anymore and the light is abysmal but he does his best with the little bits he can see and his sense of touch. Automatically, he knows it's the language of the Old Religion. He says as much to the group before he thinks it through properly, and then kicks himself as Lancelot's worried face.

"How do you know that?" Asks Leon.

"We've all heard the language at least once" reasons Lancelot, covering quickly for his friend. "It stands to reason that if it is unfamiliar then it will probably be of a magical origin."

"Yes" says Merlin, jumping on Lancelot's cover quickly, "I mean, we are on a magical quest. We're looking for an item of magic."

"I guess" concedes Leon, but Merlin can feel Arthur's eyes on his face.

"If you can recognise it, do you think you could read it?" Quizzes Arthur. He heard the quiver in his manservants' voice, saw the quick way the Lancelot jumped into the conversation, and the relieved, thankful look he relieved for doing so. Merlin is keeping something from him. Something _important _by the looks of it too.

"Um…" hedges Merlin trying to think through his options. If he says yes, then he'll have to explain how he can read the language of sorcerers. If he says no then they either abandon the quest completely (which is highly unlikely knowing Arthur) or guess and risk getting it wrong coming into even some kind of danger.

"_Mer_lin?"

What to do, what to do? They need to head forwards. It's the safest option at the moment. But Merlin can't even think of a possible explanation as to how he is able to read it.

"Sire, I doubt Merlin could read such a thing." Says Lancelot, staring intently at Merlin. "But I can." Arthur's eyes whirl quickly to his Knight, instantly suspicious. And it breaks Merlin's heart all over again.

"How?"

"When I left Camelot, I didn't really have any direction. I just travelled through different towns, different _Kingdoms_ and made money by my sword. I once met a fellow traveller, at a tavern, and he told me that he had won a book in a wager. He said it was a _magic _book. He showed me it, explained some words to me."

"_You practised sorcery!?_" Hisses Arthur, and Merlin's heart plummets even more when he sees his Princes hand move to the hilt of his sword. Lancelot sees it too. He sees Merlin's mouth open, whether to confess or spin a different lie he isn't sure, but he shakes his head slightly at his best friend. No.

"Of course not!" Replies Lancelot indignantly. It hurts him; showing such revulsion at being accused of something of which his friend cannot help. But he doesn't wish to die either. And hopefully Lancelot's plan will keep both himself and Merlin alive. "I was so drunk I couldn't have told him my own name, but he showed me the book, and it captured my attention. It was like it was enchanted. And the words, they just imprinted themselves in my mind. I had no intention of learning them. And I have no idea how to string the words into spells. I only know of the words. Not the magic. In the same way that a child knows the words 'sword' but has no idea of how to wield one."

"And you think you could tell us what it written here?" Asks Arthur sceptically. His hand is relaxed now, no longer resting on his sword. Lancelot spoke logically. He is loyal. The most loyal of all his Knights. Besides, it's not like Arthur himself hadn't been touched by magic before. He has been the unwilling recipient of spells and enchantments for many, many years. Lancelot was merely put under an enchantment. Just like he said.

"Easily" smiles Lancelot, walking over to crouch down next to Merlin. Lancelot catches his friends' eye and runs and hand through his own hair, lightly tapping at his temple as covertly as possible. He sees Merlin's eyes widen as he realises Lancelot's plan and a smile nearly rips his face in two.

Running his eyes over the words as quickly as possible without looking like he's concentrating too hard on them, Merlin opens his body to his magic, feels it flow through him. He pushes it out slightly, searching the waves of consciousness bubbling around him, skirting the edges of Gwaine's mind, catching glimpses of a strong urge to turn back and find a tavern. His magic twirls quickly away from Leon's mind, so focused and determined. He pushes further, searching quickly for Lancelot, but catches Arthur instead. Fragments of thought tickle his head; snippets of raven hair, flashes of blue eyes.

Merlin can feel Arthurs mind, pulled in two directions. He can feel the sharp, eager leader; fascinated by Lancelot and the chance of continuing the quest. But he can also feel a separate part of his consciousness. A section dedicated to keeping a constant eye on Merlin himself. Trying to watch every action, sometimes just to marvel, or sometimes just to ensure his safety. Merlin pulls away as quickly as he can, swallowing down a gasp. What does Arthur really feel for him? Trying not to ponder on this at such an important time, he reaches out again, and snags and Lancelot's consciousness.

Lancelot doesn't even so much as flinch as he feels Merlin enter his mind. It's a calming presence, so much like the physical Merlin that there isn't even a chance of there being any danger. Lancelot repeats the words out loud as Merlin translates them and whispers them into Lancelot's mind silently.

"At the pass you must choose; north or south, take your clues: North is destined, North is true but lovers perish without this too. South is simple, obvious and worshipped; the treasures hidden there are highly coveted" says Lancelot, his voice ringing clear in the silence of the woods.

"Well that's just great. What the hell does that mean?" sulks Gwaine, glaring at the rock as if it'll suddenly come alive and apologise for being so cryptic.

"Oh, come on! It's obvious" cheers Leon happily, "we carry on straight for a bit more, and then when we come to the pass, we turn south"

"Why not north?" asks Percival.

"Because 'the treasures hidden here are highly coveted' obviously means the locket"

"It does seem that way" agrees Lancelot.

The words are out of Merlin's mouth before he can even think of holding his tongue, "we should got north"

"Why?" Questions Arthur, meeting and trapping Merlin's gaze in fiery blue warmth.

Merlin isn't sure quite how much he should explain what he's thinking. Anything he says will have to be explained by other pieces of information that is likely to get him dragged back to Camelot and beheaded. Arthur's reaction to Lancelot earlier is proof enough of that. But Merlin _knows _that they have to head north. The words themselves lit up when he'd read them, glowing golden slightly at the front of his mind. They scorched his eyes and heated his blood. '_Destiny_' and '_truth_' couldn't be a more obviously directed at Merlin himself. But none of this can be explained. So instead, he holds his Princes questioning stare and says;

"'But lovers perish without this too' has to refer to _desire_." The word feels strange in his mouth whilst he's so wrapped up in his Princes eyes, and his throat has suddenly gone dry. "Lovers can be destined to be together, can be truthful and loyal. Faithful and comfortable. But without desire the eye will wonder, the excitement fades and that relationship fails. You said it yourself Arthur," and Merlin really hopes that nobody else hears the way his voice trembles over his Princes name, "the locket is enchanted to increase a person's desires. And besides, south just seems too obvious. Too easy."

"We're to go north" orders Arthur, taking a shaky breath and finally, _finally_, pulling his gaze away from his manservant. The small, hot ball of desire has turned into a churning mass of need and Arthur doesn't think he's going to be able to last much longer without losing himself in that body, that mind, that soul.

_x/x/x/x/x/x/x_

**A/N – Sorry for the late upload, I was called into work on short notice. Sucks. I haven't had a chance to reread this so there may be a few mistakes. Let me know what you think :)**

***1- Technically means a surprise attack in the middle of the night. It's also one of my favourite Panic! Songs and I thought it'd be good as Merlin's horse's name. **

***2- Is actually the name of King Arthur's favourite horse in the legends. **

***3- Another one of his horses from the original legend.**


	4. Three New Insults

Three New Insults

A little ways straight ahead turns into at least another hours ride before the pass becomes visible. The light is now completely gone, only the smallest beams of the moon making their way through the leaves to illuminate the shadows of the tree line.

"Sire, maybe we should rest for the night?" Asks Leon, pulling his horse to a halt alongside his Prince. Leon remembers the last time that they rode through the night on a quest. By the time the first rays of light filtered through to them, they'd already missed most of the tracks and ended up right back where they'd started. On a quest this important, it seems prudent not to run that risk.

"That's probably for the best, Leon. We don't want to miss anything significant across the path" replies Arthur as he dismounts quickly, dropping gracefully to the ground with a light, muted thud. He runs a hand across Llamrei's nose, his fingers warmed slightly by her snort. Arthur hears the rest of the party hit the ground, the horses whinnying quietly into the night.

"I'll go and collect some firewood" says Merlin, patting Camisado on the neck and heading off in a direction that Arthur's eyes can't follow in the blackness.

"I'll go with you _Mer_lin" declares Arthur, walking as purposefully as possible, in the direction he'd heard Merlin's voice come from, without risking stumbling over his own feet. That would _not _be very princely of him. "We can't have you falling and hurting yourself, now, can we?"

"Aw, I didn't know you cared, Sire" comes Merlin's voice from Arthur's right, his tone as disrespectful as always.

"I don't. I'd just rather not have drag your worthless hide back to Camelot and up to Gaius' chambers"

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, y'know" grumbles Merlin. Arthur feels fingers wrap around his wrist before being yanked unceremoniously forwards. "I'm over here Arthur," He hears an exasperated sigh slip through his manservants' lips as Arthur falls over his own feet and straight into Merlin's surprisingly solid chest. "Well that was graceful" snorts his manservant, patting Arthur on the shoulder and treading slowly through the foliage just past the rows of trees lining their passage.

"Shut _up_, _Mer_lin!"

_x/x/x/x/x/x_

"Do you think we should go and make sure they're alright?" Murmurs Percival, peering pointlessly into the darkness of the forest, in the direction he thinks the two men went. He really can't see anything. Not even the face of Gwaine, who's breath he can feel wash over his cheek, he's so close.

"I'm sure they're splendid" replies Gwaine cheerfully, running his fingers through his horses mane.

"But they've been gone for so long"

"You can go an' interrupt whatever it is they're doing, but on your head be it"

"And what, exactly, is that meant to mean?" Asks Leon, jumping in before Percival can ask what is probably the same question. "Damn, Gwaine, you're as cryptic as that ridiculous rock!"

"Hey! I resent that. I'm not being cryptic. _You're _all just being unobservant. Exceptionally so, in my humble opinion"

"'Humble'?" Snorts Lancelot incredulously.

"I don't see why that's so hard to believe" grumbles Gwaine, into his horse's ear. "Some of us may not be 'oh, so noble and great' like Lancelot the Clot, but there's no need for him to be insulting about it"

"I'm a Clot?"

"Yes" replies Gwaine, nodding his head vigorously, forgetting Lancelot can't see it.

"Great. And what exactly _is _a Clot, Gwaine?"

"It's short for Clotpole" declares Gwaine as if he's just found the cure for some god-awful disease.

"You, my friend, have been spending too much time with a certain absent someone" laughs Lancelot, his white teeth catching and reflecting a shred of moonlight, allowing the Knights to see his grin.

"Arthur? I've never heard him use such a word before"

"No, Percival" sighs Leon, turning in the direction he assumes his fellow Knight is stood. "Merlin. You know, the man who always much such nice stew?"

"Ah! Merlin, yes!" Shouts Percival happily. The rest of the Knights choke back their sniggers unsuccessfully.

"He does a bit more than make stew for the Princess" chuckles Gwaine, "well, if he doesn't just yet, then he will do pretty soon"

"Again with the cryptic comments" complains Lancelot, rolling his eyes. The rest of the Knights turn their backs, busying themselves with attempting to set up camp in the inky blackness around them and ignore Gwaine's shout of, "Argh, spoil sports! Don't you wanna know?!"

Gwaine smiles into the night, with complete certainty of just what the relationship between the Princess and the Manservant really is.

_X/X/X/X/X/_

Arthur is silent as they walk through the dense foliage, arms swiping ahead of them, catching and pushing back branches. It's the kind of silence that means he's brooding over something, so lost in his thoughts that he can't even spare a few seconds to mutter just one measly insult. It should be a nice break for Merlin, not having to listen to the numerous jibes, but really, it just makes him nervous. Nervous and twitchy. Well, nervous, twitchy and a _lot _clumsier than normal.

After picking himself up off of the floor for the _third _time in the short distance from the campsite to the little gap in the trees where they decide to stop and gather some wood, Merlin casts a quick glance at his Prince. Arthur doesn't utter a single word. Doesn't even so much a throw a sneer or a smirk in Merlin's direction. A sneer or a smirk that Merlin would quite easily have been able to see thanks to the blissful lack of leaves above their heads in their current location, allowing beams of moonlight to bounce off of the chainmail draped over Arthur's body like a second skin. Instead, Arthurs face is blank, totally devoid of any and all emotion, his eyes glazed as if staring off far into the distance. He isn't looking a Merlin, just staring straight ahead, unseeingly, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

"If you were just going to stand there all night, then why couldn't you have let one of the others come with me? At least they'd have helped me carry some wood back" grumbles Merlin, bending and squinting into the gloom, his hand clasping a large branch. Merlin chucks it unceremoniously into the middle of their little clearing in the beginnings of a pile.

"Arthur? Seriously, what is wrong with you?" Demand Merlin, rolling the sleeves of his shirt over his elbows and studying the unmoving prince. "Arthur?!" And still, Prince Prat doesn't answer. Doesn't even acknowledge Merlin's presence.

Merlin drops the second branch into the pile and picks his way through the undergrowth, coming to stand directly in front of Arthur. He dips his head, trying to catch the Prince's eyes. Nothing. Merlin waves his hands in front of Arthur's face hazardously before reaching to his shoulders and shaking the Prince harshly. Still, nothing.

"What the hell?" Puzzles Merlin, debating on the next best course of action.

For Arthur, the feel of his manservants' hands on him is torturous. He doubts Merlin is aware of it, but his thumbs are brushing against the skin of Arthur's neck while they rest on his shoulders. That tiny contact sends streaks of heat over the Princes flesh, twisting and caressing the skin of his neck, sinking further into a coil of fire in the pit of his stomach. He wants to move, _God he wants to move_, wants to say something — anything —but he physically can't. He can feel Merlin. He can _smell_ him; the faint musk of medicinal herbs, metal and something distinctly _Merlin_. Hell, he can even taste him. The sweetness of Merlin's breath on his tongue, his manservant is so close. But he can't see him. He can't see anything but the bright red haze before his eyes.

Arthur wonders absently whether he has his eyes closed. Perhaps it's the morning sun lighting his closed lids. Even if it was closer to midnight than dawn when they'd set off to grab some fire wood. And that explanation would do just fine, if it wasn't for the fact that Arthur can feel something else in the back of his mind. It's buried in the furthest corner, hiding, but Arthur knows it's there. Its presence is as real to him as Merlin's is. And that's the problem.

_Merlin._

When Arthur had left for this quest, he'd been very well aware that his feelings for his manservant were anything _but _platonic. Not even the feelings a friend would feel for a friend. Arthur had certainly never dreamt of _Leon's _fingers curled roughly around his cock, the pressure just right, the rhythm perfect. The pull, the swipe of a thumb against the head so _there _but so impossibly _teasing _all in one go. Everything he wants, but somehow nowhere near enough.

So…yes…Arthur knew he lusted after his manservant. But other than indulging in these dreams late at night, fixing the fantasies behind his eyes as he wrapped his own hand around himself, Arthur had never lost control around Merlin. He was the _Prince _for heaven's sake! He couldn't possibly be seen having dalliances with a servant, especially not a _male _servant. It was lucky that he'd been raised to withstand the pain of swords; it certainly made keeping control of his wretched body easier.

However, the same could not be said for right this minute. In this moment, well since Arthur had made the decision to pursue the locket really, his body was no longer willing to follow commands. And his mind was far from being kept in check. Image after image assaulted Arthur continuously. Merlin's hands; elegant and beautiful even whilst hardened by work and an odd sense of strength. Merlin's eyes; such a piercing blue. Merlin's lips; the perfect curve and dip. Merlin's neck, collarbone, and the slope from back to arse…the list was endless. Every single part of Merlin was catalogued in Arthurs mind. And it was torture, so much worse than anything Morgana could set upon him, to know that he could never act upon such thoughts for fear of his father finding out.

The miniscule slither of control Arthur still had over himself shattered at a whispered word from the back of his mind. The words are indecipherable but the result is instant. The hold on his muscles slackens; the haze slithers away until all that is left is a faint glow of Pendragon red shimmering around his vision.

"Merlin" And his voice is hoarse; low and throaty. It is not a question. Nor is it a statement. It is a litany, a reverent caress in syllabic form. The name wraps around his tongue like the most sweetened wine; delicious and addictive. The red glow frames his manservants pale face, highlighting the sharp, sculpted cut of his cheek bones. Arthur doesn't think, doesn't listen to the part of his brain that isn't yet incoherent with lust, instead, he lunges forward, driven by the whispered encouragements purred from mysterious voice the back of his mind.

Merlin's eyes widen to impossibly big, round disks of blue the moment the Prince's mouth descend on his own. Arthur's lips are chapped, slightly bitten with the stress Merlin knows rests upon his shoulders and undeniably warm against the chill of the night. His kisses are sweet, delicate, in their hesitancy. But his natural inclination towards impatience swiftly rears its head as Merlin stands frozen, neither reciprocating nor resisting. Arthur's lips turn hard, his tongue swiping insistently against the seam of Merlin's mouth, _demanding _entrance. His hand is curled in the short dusting of hair at the back of Merlin's neck, fingers pressed almost painfully into the skin there.

Breathing is becoming impossible, what with his mouth smashed so hard against Arthur's that is, and Merlin tries to pull away. The Prince just tightens his hold on the back of Merlin's neck. Arthur's impatience slips quickly into anger, sucking Merlin's bottom lip into his mouth and _biting. _Merlin jumps, his muscles tensing as a noise somewhere between a gasp and a yelp escapes, granting the access Arthur so desperately wants.

And that's when Merlin's mind kicks in. The half formed thoughts of resistance dissipate as his own hands twine themselves into his Prince's hair, dragging his hips forwards to press as tightly against Arthur's body as their mouths are fused. Arthur groans brokenly at the back of his throat, the sound skittering in waves over Merlin's tongue as it battles for dominance with his Princes. Merlin allows himself to have this. To believe that Arthur feels the same way as himself, even if by morning his Prince transforms back into his normal self and pretends that this never happened. Merlin should be allowed to have it at least once. And damn it, he was going to enjoy it!

His hand is just working its way over his manservant's abdomen when he snaps back to himself. The red haze lazily rolling behind his now closed eyes disappears and the heat seeping through his body plummets dramatically. Realisation dawns cold and merciless.

"Merlin!" Cries Arthur, pulling his mouth from his manservants and jumping back so quickly that Merlin's hands are wrenched from his hair painfully.

"W-what?" Stutters Merlin, blinking furiously at Arthur. The confused frown crinkling his brow hurts Arthur's heart, but he ignores the stab through his chest and spits his words at his manservant.

"This cann_ot _happen again. _Ever_." Shouts Arthur. If he loses control again, then his father might find out. And if his father found out…well, then Merlin might as well be a sorcerer for the punishment Uther would inflict. That was just a temporary lack of control, a complete and utter _mistake_. "If you ever try something like that again, _Mer_lin, I'll have your head myself!" Shouts Arthur, blushing at the suggestive thoughts of the words 'having Merlin's head' conjure in his mind.

"_You _kissed _me_!" Growls Merlin angrily, glaring venomously at the Prince. Arthurs eyes rake over his manservant, catching a locking away the picture Merlin creates with his swollen lips; pink and glistening from Arthurs kiss, hand mused hair and rapidly rising chest.

"Oh, don't be an idiot" sneers Arthur, swooping to yank an armful of braches to his chest and storming back the way they'd come. He can hear Merlin's indignant voice behind him, the insults being hurled at Arthurs back so run together in fury that he can't make out a single one, but Arthur doesn't turn back. He doesn't look over his shoulder or slow down so that Merlin can catch up. Instead, he runs his tongue over his lips, savouring the taste of his manservant and walks towards the campsite and his huddle of knights.

_x/x/x/x/x/x_

Gwaine's intention of shouting lewd comments when he hears the Princess crash back through the line of trees is cut off by Merlin's furious shout of;

"God, I hope you trip over a root and get a face-full of mud! Or better yet, horse dung!"

"Uh-oh" whispers Leon.

"It's gonna be an interesting night, boys" laughs Gwaine quietly, striding over and relieving the Princess of the branches in his arms. Arthur gives his haul up willingly, disappearing quickly as Gwaine makes his way over to Merlin.

"He's a prat! Such a stupid, dungheaded prat!" Seethes Merlin, still managing a 'thank you' as Gwaine places the fire wood into the pile Merlin's already created.

"Dungheaded, Merlin? That's a new one"

"Yes, well, special times call for special insults" mutter Merlin, "could you get me my knife, please? It's in Camisado's saddlebag."

"Okay, the Princess annoys me sometimes too Merlin" says Gwaine, "most of the time, actually. But I don't think an assassination attempt is the best way to deal with whatever he's done this time"

"No, you Clotpole!" Laughs Merlin, effectively roused from his dark thoughts. "I need to skin the rabbit."

"As long as that's all you're planning on skinning…"

"You have my word that I will not try and kill Prince Pratiness"

"Good" replies Gwaine with his most winning smile as he jumps up from his crouch to go and do Merlin's bidding. With Gwaine gone for a second, Merlin makes a show of banging a few rocks together while whispering a spell under this breath. By the time Gwaine presses the wooden handle of his knife into Merlin's palm, he has the fire raging nicely.

_X/X/X/X/X/X/_

The night slips by quickly, the rabbit stew hurriedly thrown down throats, bedrolls laid out as close to the fire as possible and sooner than anyone likes, the orange streaks of the dawn sky filter down through the leaves happily.

Arthur hadn't spoken to Merlin for the entire night. He'd grabbed Leon's stew right out of his hands and sent the knight back to get another portion just so that he didn't have to get closer than the other side of the fire to his manservant. Then he'd spread out on his own bedroll and pretended to be asleep whilst the rest of the party chatted quietly amongst themselves. Not once did he head his manservants' voice and by the time his eyelids felt heavy, everyone else had settled down too. Just as he sunk into the sleepy blackness awaiting him, he heard Gwaine's exasperated sigh.

"How is it that you remember the Princess' blankets, but not your own, hmm?" demanded the knight. Arthur couldn't stay awake long enough to hear Merlin's reply.

Looking around now at the campsite, Arthur can't help but wish that he'd stayed awake just a little bit longer. Long enough, at least, to know how the hell Gwaine had ended up _wrapped around his manservant_ under one lone blanket during the night.

"Wake up! We leave in five minutes!" Shouts Arthur, his voice bellowing in the quiet morning air. To his knights' credit every one of them is on their feet, swords in hands before he's even finished his sentence, eyes darting around for the threat. Merlin on the other hand, lets out a surprised yelp followed by a huff of pain as Gwaine's elbow connects with his nose during his hurry to snatch up his sword.

"Shit! Merlin, are you alright?" Asks Gwaine, dropping to his knees quickly and inspecting Merlin's nose. A thin stream of blood trickles down from his nose, trailing over his lips and trickling down his chin. The crimson streaks contrasting dramatically with Merlin's pale skin.

"'M fine" Mumbles Merlin, pinching his nose and wincing.

"Don't be such a _girl_, Merlin." Snaps Arthur, stamping towards Llamrei to fix her saddlebags.

"Chamber pot!" Shouts Merlin, little drops of blood splattering Gwaine's face as Merlin's lips pop the 'p'.

"Oh, seriously? Chamber pot?" Asks Gwaine, laughing slightly. He gently swipes his sleeve across Merlin's face, getting rid of some of the blood.

"What? He's full of shit too" argues Merlin, wincing as his indignant look scrunches his nose up.

"You really can't talk to me like that, _Mer_lin" says Arthur, his back still facing the group. His voice is deadly calm, barely carrying over the Merlin and the Knights.

"My apologies, Sire" sneers Merlin sarcastically. He's well aware that he's pushing it here, but his head hurts from trying to figure out Arthur's sudden change last night. His heart hurts from finally letting himself hurt to only have it snatched out from under him. His pride hurts by Arthurs words. And his fucking _nose hurts_! "Would you rather I call you a Royal Ratface?"

"Merlin, that one's just ridiculous. It isn't even logical" sighs Lancelot.

"Well done, Merlin, you just proved how much of an _idiot_ you actually are" replies Arthur, turning quickly to face his manservant before bursting out with a bark of laughter. Merlin looks even more insulted for a second before laughing just as loudly, the tension dissolving easily.

"Come on, I'll sort out your nose before Gwaine causes any more damage" says Arthur, striding over and pulling his manservant up. "The rest of you can pack up camp" he orders his Knights. "And I wasn't joking – I want to be out of here in five minutes"

"Yes, Sire" chorus the Knights as Arthur leads Merlin towards Camisado and the medical supplies stored in her saddle bags.

_X/X/X/X/X/X_

**A/N – God, sorry guys for not updating for so long. But exams are finally over, so I can start writing for fun again **** This is my first attempt at smut-ish FanFiction so let me know what you think.**

**Thanks! **


	5. Four Strange Bandits

Four Strange Bandits…

Five minutes later, true to their word, the Knights have got the camp packed up. Bedrolls are stuffed back into packs, the ashes of the fire stamped out and the horses tacked and happily munching away on some tufts of grass nearby.

"I'm really sorry, Merlin" says Gwaine for the tenth time, glancing to Merlin again before wincing and looking away. Arthur, bless the Prat, had done his best. He'd washed the blood away with a wet bandage, scavenged from the depths of Camisado's saddle bag, and a gentle hand, checked to make sure his nose wasn't broken and even told Merlin to rest for a bit instead of helping to pack up, but his face was still pretty swollen and a dark smudge was working its way under his eyes, the beginnings of a rather painful looking bruise.

"It's fine Gwaine, honestly. It was an accident"

"I could kiss it better?" Offers Gwaine, sashaying over with his habitual flirty air, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. If the Princess won't admit to his feels for Merlin, then Gwaine will just have to find another way to get the truth.

"No, no, no" stutters Merlin, raising his hands in the universal sign for peace, backing away quickly. Of course, being Merlin, he trips over his own feet and lands straight on his arse in the mud. "I swear to God, Gwaine, if that mouth comes anywhere near me I'll bite. I will! Don't test me!"

"Is that supposed to put me off Merlin? Pray tell me; do I look like the kind of man who doesn't appreciate a bit of rough?"

"You _are _the bit of rough, you Clotpole!" Shouts Merlin, trying and failing to school his face into a look of disapproval as his lips twitch and the urge to laugh bubbles up his throat.

"Oh, you compliment me so, Sir" purrs Gwaine, bending before Merlin, puckering his lips melodramatically.

"Argh! I don't even want to know where your mouth has been" complains Merlin, batting at Gwaine's face ineffectually. He sighs in defeat as the man places a loud, wet kiss in the centre of his cheek before flopping down in the mud next to Merlin, giggling like the drunkard everyone thinks him to be.

"I could write you a list of everywhere my mouth has been" offers Gwaine, a smile still half splitting his face which only grows bigger as he catches Arthur's furious expression out of the corner of his eye. One point to Gwaine. The possibility that the Princess could hide something like this from Gwaine is almost insulting. He is the _King_ of sexual tension, which far outweighs a mere _Princess_. "But I warn you now, it will be a _long _read. And you must promise to protect me from the many angry fathers, brothers and husbands who would come knocking on my door if that list fell into the wrong hands!"

"Merlin couldn't protect you from a wasp, Gwaine" growls Arthur, storming forward and yanking his manservant out of the mud and to his side in one angry movement. The huff of indignation he feels Merlin breathe against his cheek ignites every nerve in his body, making him shiver, but he just glares at Gwaine and drags his manservant behind him and over to the horses. "Stop playing in the mud, Gwaine, you look like pigs before they're placed on the spits. We are leaving _now_."

"Are we still heading north, Sire?" murmurs Merlin. Arthur knows Merlin's only using his title to placate him in his temper, but right now, after watching his manservant sat in the mud, blushing and being kissed by another man, he wants nothing more than to hear Merlin's usual disregard for the rules. He wants Merlin to treat him like a normal man – like the status divide between them isn't so great and that he could flirt with and kiss Merlin in front of everyone.

"Yes" replies Arthur shortly, mounting Llamrei easily.

"I thought I was never to lead us anywhere again?" chuckles Merlin as he settles on Camisado. The sound is thick and low, running over Arthur's skin like heated syrup. He shakes his head forcibly, losing the battle yet again with his thoughts, and edges Llamrei out of the pass and down another barely visible path winding through the dense foliage to the north, not bothering to see if his Knights would follow. He knows they will.

"You suggested this direction, I decided it was logical. And anyway, _I'm _leading _Mer_lin, not you"

"Very well observed, _Sire_. Is there anything else you'd like to add? Like, I don't know, how about you're cloak is red?" Drawls Merlin sarcastically, holding pace easily next to Arthur at the front of the group again. The sound of other horses behind them signals the presence of the other Knights.

"Yes, that's about as obvious as you idiocy"

"And your weight gain"

"And your humongous ear— excuse me?! My _weight gain_?!"

"You'd noticed too, Sire? Well, that saves me the hassle of discreetly adding another hole on your belt. I'll just ask the tanner and the seamstress to make you a new one. It's not that noticeable really, Your Highness, I'm sure most people just thinking it's the chainmail hanging over your belt, and not at all your stomach" sighs Merlin in relief, the blue in his eyes shining with mischief as the Prince's titles tumble off of his tongue with the insults.

"_Mer_lin!"

"Yes, Sire?"

"You – what – can't – not – stomach –!" stutters Arthur, at a complete loss of what to say.

"Heavens, Sire, it's a good thing that eloquence isn't an important part of being a Prince." Says Merlin, his face a picture of innocence. "Oh, wait — it is!"

"If you don't shut up now, I'll find a way to make you" threatens Arthur as his mind promptly harasses him with images of his manservant resting on his knees, with his hands splayed against his hips and his lips stretched happily around his cock.

"And how do you plan on doing that, _Arthur_?" Whispers Merlin, his clear blue gaze burning his Prince as he purposefully sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and worries it with his teeth, almost as if he knows Arthurs thoughts. Arthur feels his cock twitch in anticipation. And he'll be damned if he lets Merlin get away with that.

"Then again, _Mer_lin, maybe I'd rather hear you scream" Breathes Arthur, holding Merlin's gaze as his manservant's jaw drops slightly. Merlin licks his lips, his mouth gone dry, as Prince Prat nudges Llamrei forward quicker, the motion of his hips adding to the impossible heat Merlin can feel in his groin.

Merlin doesn't even attempt to catch up to Arthur as the prat switches to a trot up ahead instead of the casual walk Merlin and the Knights are maintaining. He doesn't drop further back, either, to ride with the others. Instead he takes some much needed time to himself, gritting his teeth against the torturous friction of his breeches against his, now fully hard, cock every time Camisado moves and tries, by sheer force of will, to get himself to _deflate_. Damn Arthur and his stupid fucking innuendoes! He'd freaked out when they'd kissed, for heaven's sake, there is no way he'd ever even attempt to make Merlin 'scream', no matter how much Merlin wished he would. Stupid, pratty, tease of a Prince!

_X/X/X/X/X/X/X/_

There's nothing particularly interesting on the path, just more foliage like every other part of the woods. There isn't anything which screams magic either which makes Merlin feel even more uncomfortable. If they were on the right path, shouldn't there be something to indicate the quest by now? If he'd suggested the wrong way, and Arthur didn't complete this quest, the next few weeks would be torture. Arthur in a bad mood is about as infuriating as Arthur in tease mode – which Merlin is just finding out, is so infuriating that his magic is jittering irritably across his skin just at the thought of the man. Although, that could also be the fact that his cock is still as hard as it had been a couple of hours ago and the constant riding is creating a continuous friction that lacks any particular pressure, keeping Merlin balancing precariously on the line between release and the frenzied _need to come_. Not even imagining Gaius naked makes a single bit of difference – and Merlin is much too traumatised to try that image again!

"I need to pee" declares Merlin loudly enough for his voice to travel to all the Knights in one direction and to Arthur in the other.

"Lovely, thanks for sharing" laughs Lancelot. Merlin simply shrugs and hops off of Camisado's back before waiting for Arthur's permission to stop the group. It's the stupid prats fault anyway. The thought of touching himself only a few feet from his friends isn't a particularly pleasant one, but if he doesn't do something with his cock soon, his magic is going to explode out of him.

"Shouldn't someone go with him?" Asks Leon as Merlin picks his way through the brush, "to make sure he doesn't get lost"

"No!" Replies Merlin, the panic in his voice obvious. "I—I'm fine Leon. I'll be back in a second"

"Fine. But make it quick!" Orders Arthur. Merlin has to fight to keep his laugh from escaping. God, with how close to the edge he is, one touch is going to be all it takes anyway.

He makes quick work of the laces on his breeches, yanking the material down with his braies to mid-thigh and bunches his tunic up to his hips. Taking a breath, shaking with relief as the cool breeze hits his burning flesh; he wraps his hand around his cock, fisting it loosely as he hisses at the sensitivity. It feels like he's been rubbed raw, but he clenches a little tighter and works his hand down the shaft and back up, with quick brutal tugs and a flick of his wrist. Within the second stroke he can feel the release building hot and frenzied in his groin. Clenching his jaw against the urge to scream Arthurs name to the heavens, finally, he comes. It's quick and clumsy but oh-so satisfying. Even if, after Arthurs participation in creating the problem to start with, a pang of loneliness rings through him. What he'd have given for it to have been the Princes hand.

Wiping the wet heat off of his hand with a nearby leaf, Merlin cleans himself up as best as he can in the middle of the wood, and ties his breeches back into place, hoping the light sheen of seat slowly cooling on his forehead isn't obvious. He puffs out a breath and heads back to the path where he can hear the Knights talking.

A quiet rustle drifts to Merlin's ears, forcing him to a stop. He sweeps his eyes across the area, trying to pick out what made the noise. Maybe it's a deer. The idea makes Merlin smile. Arthur would be thrilled. An almost silent twang is all the warning Merlin gets before the arrow whooshes past him, missing his face by a hairsbreadth, as it buries itself into a tree behind him. Another one follows it, this time much more likely to hit its target, and Merlin acts instinctively. He brings a hand up, the words of the Old Religion rolling off of his tongue without so much as a thought, and the arrow quivers in mid air for a second, then jerks around and flies straight into the bowman's chest.

"Sorcerer!" Shouts one of the men, his voice low and rusty sounding, and the word rings out painfully loud.

"What the—? Merlin? What's going on?" Demands Arthur. Merlin watches with a sinking feeling as the leaders head whips to the side, noticing that he's not in pursuit of only one man.

"Ambush!" Calls Merlin, turning and sprinting back through the tree line. They're not in that much danger. There had only been four men to begin with, and now that the bowman's dead, it's three against Arthur and four Knights of Camelot. It's not exactly a fair fight. The bandits must realise this as the moment they charge through the tree line, they falter. The rings of steel sounds as swords are unsheathed.

"Well, this is unexpected" says the leader, looking from Merlin to Arthur to the Knights and back again. "It's only supposed to be Emrys and the Once and Future King"

"Emrys? What do you know about Emrys?" Gulps Merlin.

"You are he" says the leader bluntly.

"Alright, I've had _enough _of this! Gwaine, Percival, arrest the other two. We'll take them back to Camelot once we've finished the quest"

"Stay where you are!" Orders the leader, his voice booming. "Who are you, to think you can arrest us?"

"Who am _I_?" Repeats Arthur angrily, and Merlin tries his hardest to stop Arthur from finishing what he's about to say. He opens his mouth to yell at him, but before a word even manages to form, Arthur declares, "I am Prince Arthur of Camelot"

"Good" replies the leader, and takes advantage of Arthur's temporary lack of focus to plunge his sword straight through the Princes chest.

_X/X/X/X/X/X/X_

There is no pain. Arthur was taught from a very young age that shock is the best barrier against pain there is. And they had been right. He can feel the steel enter his chest, the metal a burning cold compared to the heat of his blood. There's a slight pinch, like how it felt when Morgana used to twist the skin on his forearm playfully when they had been children. But no pain.

He stumbles and the trees sway before his eyes. There's noise around him; shouts and cries, but they seem far away. It's like he's underwater, the liquid pressing against his ears and blocking out the full effect of the sounds around him. His hand goes to his chest, the blood hot and sticky against his fingers, dripping impossibly fast down his wrist. The world goes black as the ground rushes up to meet him.

_X/X/X/X/X/X/X_

"Arthur!" Screams Merlin, but as he watches, his entire body numb, Arthurs body slumps to the ground. He doesn't think; just acts. There is no incantation this time, no words or spells. He feels his magic sizzle in his veins, hot and angry, before it flares, like flint and tinder, automatic and unstoppable, out of his control. He can feel his eyes change, feel the golden glint of magic swirling.

The Knights stare, transfixed as Merlin's entire body glows golden. He seems to double in size; his back straight, his chin raised, his arms resting just slightly away from his sides. It's as frightening as it is beautiful. The golden shimmer shifts and swirls, casting Merlin into an ethereal haze, like smoke. And then Merlin thrusts his arms out in front of him, palms up and open, pointing directly at the frozen bandits. A force blasts through the air, its invisible to Gwaine but he can _feel _the heat as it blazes and it crackles around them, and then the bandits are gone. Two small piles of ash are picked up by a ferocious wind and carried off, all in the blink of an eye.

"Bring him back" orders Merlin, turning eyes as golden as the sun and as hot as a dragon's breath onto the leader. His voice is ice and as hard as steel.

"I cannot do that Emrys"

"This is your quest. Bring. Him. Back"

"I do not have the power to resurrect the dead" replies the leader sadly.

"He isn't dead!" Cries Merlin. "His heart is still beating. I can _feel _it"

"Are you sure, Warlock?"

"Yes" hisses Merlin vehemently. "My heart beats for him. I wouldn't be alive if he were not"

"That is a nice sentiment, Emrys, but not quite correct. You are two sides of the same coin, yes, but you are not yet _one_."

"What does that even mean?"

"You will know soon enough." Answers the leader with a dismissive wave of his hand. "This quest is _your_ destiny, Emrys. If you want your Prince back, you shall have him. There is nothing in this world that can stop you from taking what you want. However, the question is; what are you willing to sacrifice to get him?"

"Anything" replies Merlin immediately.

"Let's test that, shall we" murmurs the leader as the world swirls gold around Merlin and he's plonked unceremoniously on the stone floor outside of Arthurs chambers.

"Why are we back in Camelot?"

"Because there is something you need to see" explains the leader, his eyes flashing black as the heavy wooden door opens without so much as a squeak.

Poking his head around the door, curiosity getting the better of his instincts to fight the man who ran a sword through his Prince, Merlin's breath catches in the back of his throat. Sat in the middle of the bed, the candle light flickering across his bronzed skin, is Arthur. His head is tipped back, resting on the headboard of his bed, exposing his neck and the straining muscles bunching and releasing while his Adams apple bobs as he swallows thickly. Merlin's eyes travel down, across his collarbone, over his chest and to his lap. Arthurs hand is wrapped tightly around his cock, moving up and down at a furious pace, sweat glistening along even inch of exposed flesh. As Merlin watches, a haze of gold trickles between Arthurs fingers as he tenses and releases, coating his hand and the sheets. Merlin's name echoes around the chambers, ripped from his Princes throat in the heat of release.

"Why are you showing me this?" Whispers Merlin, keeping his eyes on the very drowsy Prince in front of him.

"His heart is yours too, Emrys. He does not want to admit it, he is scared, but he cannot fight it. And neither can you. Your magic, it is a part of you, and it calls for him"

"It has a connection to him, but it doesn't get out of control around Arthur"

"Really? This happened on the last night you were in Camelot, an hour before the bell chimed midnight. What were you doing then?" Asks the man, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Merlin can feel his cheeks flaming with a blush. He'd been doing the exact thing that he'd just watched. "Exactly. When you reached release, so did he. Different rooms, different sides of the castle, but yet your magic reached out for Arthur, pleasured him. He felt your presence; your name was on his lips."

"So?" asks Merlin, "I don't understand what this has to do with saving Arthur"

"He is a child of magic too, Emrys. He has magic in him. It is dormant, but it is there. It is what draws your magic to him, while his heart draws yours. You are meant for each other, truly two halves of the same whole, but you have not yet become one. Until this happens, the bond between the Prince of Camelot and yourself is not complete." And there is no denying how exactly they are supposed to become a _whole_. "You need to know this for what you are about to experience. You _must _become one, and soon, if you do not wish Camelot to perish."

"Why did you have to hurt Arthur to show me this?"

"Back in the forest, your magic, it changed. You were so angry, so distraught, that your magic took over. And that was just the surface of your power, Emrys. You needed to harness all of the power you possess in order to complete this quest. You must be aware of just how dangerous you could be. You need to know that you can control yourself, even when your magic becomes uncontrollable. Death is the ultimate uncontrollable force, and you managed to keep yourself focused enough in the face of it to destroy only the threat, and not yourself or Arthur in the process. His death is regrettable, but not permanent, Emrys. It was a means to an end." Explains the man.

"I would never hurt Arthur"

"Purposefully"

"At. All! My one, and only, desire is to protect him. It is my destiny."

"And, _his_ one, true desire is _you_. In every possible way. But his father will never allow it, Uther would have you killed if he found out, so he will never allow himself to have you. This is a lesson that you _must _remember. Soon, it will feel like you can take anything you want, but there are _always _consequences."

"He's sacrificing his happiness for my life" mumbles Merlin, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes as he watches Arthurs eyelids droop heavily and his face relax into an exhausted, peaceful sleep. The golden haze worms its way under the cover and against Arthurs side, earning a contented sigh from the Prince who shifts to cradle it like it's a tangible object.

"Of course he is, Emrys. So, what are you willing to sacrifice for his?"

"What do you want?"

"We want your memories of William, Emrys."

"Will? Why?"

"He is the only friend you ever willingly shared your magic with; he meant a lot to you. Your memories of him are cherished, are they not? Will you sacrifice a childhood of happy memories for your Prince's life? Happiness for happiness, Emrys. Besides, a true friend can never truly be erased."

There was a time when Will had meant everything to him, when he was his one and only friend, his confident, his brother. He had died for Arthur, for Merlin because he knew, he knew that Merlin loved Arthur; he had protected Merlin's magic. Loved him despite of his magic. To not have a memory of him would be like killing a part of Merlin. But to let Arthur die would be taking away half of his own soul. It was impossible. Unthinkable.

"Yes" replies Merlin in a whisper, and then his world goes gold.

_The Once and Future King will never be, unless you destroy the key._

_My words are the clue, remember that too._

_X/X/X/X/X/X_

_Reviews?_

**A/N - God, I'm so sorry I haven't written for so long! I'm having some problems deciding quite where I want this to go so I hope this makes sense. Let me know :) **

**I wanted to get this up quickly so sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes! I'll double check it at a later date, but right now it's four in the morning where I am and I have college soon so I've seriously got to drag my butt to bed. Night Everyone! **


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